Oso 9780190631260 Chapter 6

Economy
University Press Scholarship Online
Oxford Scholarship Online
Hasidism: Key Questions

Marcin Wodzinski
Print publication date: 2018

Print ISBN-13: 9780190631260
Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190631260.001.0001
Economy
Marcin Wodziński
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780190631260.003.0006
Abstract and Keywords

The self-image of Hasidism as a poor movement, typical of many religious groups
in which the founding ethos of the group was in describing itself as untouched
by earthly material desires, has been widely accepted in both common wisdom
and the scholarship on Hasidism. Based on extensive narrative sources and
some quantitative materials, this chapter provides a rich picture of Hasidic
groups’ occupational and financial profile, which contradicts this prevailing view
that the Hasidim were usually poor and detached from economic activity. It
points to the Hasidim’s relative affluence, as well as to their tendency to cluster
in the commercial professions and to avoid the crafts. More broadly, it points to
the dynamic character of “class/church” interdependence and the ideological
and cultural factors creating them. It also confirms the correlation between a
religious group’s strictness and its socioeconomic strength and attractiveness.
Keywords: Hasidism, deprivation theory, rational choice theory, economic activity, professional
profile, commerce, crafts, contract enforcement
Page 1 of 44
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Economy
A feud had broken out between the Hasidim and the common Jews of
Leoncin. It had been simmering for a long time and it now erupted into a
full-scale conflict. The common Jews, mostly artisans and village peddlers,
envied the wealthier Hasidim, who were properly disdainful of the paupers
and ignoramuses. It was the age-old envy-hatred that has eternally divided
classes, only this time it found expression in matters dealing with religion.1
Setting aside the bias of the Marxist formulation of the author of these words,
the Yiddish novelist and memoirist Israel Joshua Singer (1893–1944), it is a clear
presentation of the socioprofessional stratification of the Jewish community in
Leoncin at the beginning of the twentieth century, including the Hasidim as an
important component of the economic structure of the community. This should
not be surprising. Hasidism transformed the life of East-European Jews not only
in religious, but also social, cultural, political, and other terms. One can thus
assume that the new ideas and new social bonds that Hasidism created, both
within individual communities and on a supracommunal level, also had, beyond
their religious and social, economic implications.
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Economy
Unfortunately, our knowledge of the economic aspects of Hasidism is still

imperfect. The two aspects better recognized by the historiography of Hasidism
are the economy of the courts and, more recently, the involvement of the
economic elite in support of the Hasidic leaders.2 In sharp (p.202) contrast to
these relatively well-recognized issues, there is little research on the economic
aspect of Hasidism at the level of Jewish communities outside of the Hasidic
courts, that is, where the vast majority of Hasidim spent almost their whole
lives.3 This is yet another sorry result of the still persistent perspective that
mistakenly takes the Hasidic leaders’ history for the history of the rank and file.
Worse still, an economic analysis of any religious movement within Judaism has
been often viewed with suspicion for either crypto-antisemitic intentions of
blaming Judaism for the alleged failings of Jewish economic behavior, or for
imputing crude materialist motives to pure religious phenomena. As such, these
voices subscribed to a long Jewish tradition, which viewed much of economic
history, from Karl Marx to Werner Sombart, as inherently antisemitic.4 Economic
historian Jonathan Karp wittily dubbed it Shylock’s “long shadow of
defensiveness.”5
Finally, the reflection on economic aspects of Hasidism fell prey to a very

specific line of development of Jewish studies preoccupied with intellectual
history to the detriment of other perspectives. As a result, economic history has
never enjoyed systematic interest comparable to research in intellectual,
religious, or cultural history of the Jews; the field has never experienced a
cliometric turn or systematically employed quantitative approaches. Even
though a growing, indeed, impressive number of recent studies on the economic
history of the Jews prompted some scholars to suggest “economic turn” in
Jewish studies, it seems the wave has not affected the historiography of
Hasidism yet.6
(p.203) Needless to say, this chapter will not correct all these faults. My
modest intention is to indicate the possibilities of new approaches and new
research results in the most debated issue of the socio-occupational profile of
the Hasidic movement.
Images and Their Uses
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Economy
A critique of the economic consequences of Hasidism was present in writings on

Hasidism from the very beginning. An eighteenth-century, anti-Hasidic writer
Jacques Calmanson presented it as the incarnation of an all-Jewish conflict
between the religious-financial elite and the common people in which the Jewish
aristocracy “skillfully abuse the injudicious ardor of misguided simple folk.”7
Likewise, traditional critics from elite rabbinical circles of the mitnagedim, as
well as supporters of the Jewish Enlightenment, would focus on the motif of the
Hasidic families’ supposed poverty from whom the leaders of the Hasidic
movement extracted every last penny as pidyon—an offering for their religious
services.8 The harmful effects of the fact that the fathers and husbands spent
their days at prayer and play and most holy days away from their families at the
tsadik’s court, thus shirking work, have been emphasized too. The Łódź
correspondent of the Polish-Jewish weekly Izraelita wrote sarcastically:
It is understandable that a man who has so many connections in heaven

and who is constantly surrounded by angels cannot care for such mundane
matters as housekeeping, raising children, attending to trades or crafts;
this he leaves completely to his wife. She must think of everything,
working day and night without a word of complaint, and if her husband
returns home late at night, the poor woman is certain that he was in bet
midrash, where he was studying God’s law. If the head of the family is
absent from home on solemn occasions, his wife endures her loneliness
with resignation and kisses her children with tears in her eyes.9
(p.204) In the opinion of the maskilim, this led to the impoverishment of

Hasidic families in which a hungry wife and ragged children waited for the
return of their profligate father who had been squandering their income at the
tsadik’s court. Furthermore, in the view of the maskilim, the boundless faith in
the tsadik’s absolute power and help meant that Hasidim were economically
passive. This in turn led to reprehensible indolence and idleness,
unproductiveness, avoiding activities requiring any effort or systematic
approach—thus, above all, heavy trades or farming. This was in sharp contrast
with the maskilic program of being productive, according to which the chances
of morally reforming the Jewish people depended on progress in steering Jews
into farming and the trades, and thus in changing the socioeconomic structure of
Eastern-European Jews.
Anti-Hasidic polemicists also raised the economic effects of the Hasidim

isolating themselves for prayer, suggesting that their absence from the local
synagogue led to a decrease in its income from reading the Torah, from
collections, pew leases, and even local taxes and special levies.10 It was hardly
unusual then that economic arguments were one of the most popular strains of
anti-Hasidic criticism.11
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Economy
The dichotomous image created by the Jewish Enlightenment of the poor Hasidic
masses and their exploitative leaders coincided in a remarkable way with the
Hasidic self-image, although of course only in the first instance. Both Shivḥei ha-
Besht (1814), the oldest collection of legends about the alleged founder of
Hasidism, R. Israel ben Eliezer (the Besht), as well as a great many later
collections of Hasidic stories contained numerous tales of Hasidic poverty, which
was not merely accepted but indeed lauded as a real Hasidic value. We read, for
instance, that the Besht himself “never kept money overnight. When he returned
from his travels he used to pay his debts, and he would give the rest of it to
charity on the very same day.”12 In later Hasidic writings, we find numerous
confirmations that “all of them [the Hasidim] were great paupers, as we
know,”13 as well as numerous statements in favor of poverty. When asked for
help for an (p.205) impoverished follower, the well-known tsadik Menaḥem
Mendel of Kotsk [Kock] supposedly replied that “since he is a Hasid, he needs
nothing.”14 On another occasion, when a Hasid complained to the tsadik of
poverty, the latter inquired:
– Are you well?
– I am.
– Do you have an appetite?
– I do.
– Then you have 600 rubles, for Temerl Sonneberg, the well-known wealthy
Jewess and protector of Hasidism has provided exactly 600 rubles for curing
the appetite.15
This self-image of Hasidism as a poor movement was quite typical of many

religious groups in which the initial founding ethos of the group describing itself
as untouched by earthly material desires is independent of its real social profile
and wealth.16 The resulting tension between the ethos of poverty and a real
focus on social influence can be seen in many religious communities, starting
with early Buddhism and early Christianity up to modern-day movements of
spiritual renewal.
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Economy
Both these traditional sources, Hasidic and anti-Hasidic alike, in paradoxical

accord informed scholarly reflection on the movement’s economic and
occupational profile. Simon Dubnow portrayed the Hasidim as either holy
paupers, much in the mold of St. Francis, or proto-proletarian revolutionaries,
rousing themselves against abuses by the Jewish oligarchy and rabbinical elite17.
Benzion Dinur, following the same pattern, suggested that most of the early
Hasidim were recruited from the ranks of poor artisans, whereas the leaders
were members of the secondary intelligentsia, for example, itinerary preachers,
teachers, authors of popular religious literature.18 Both Dubnow and Dinur
maintained also that the early Hasidism had a clear social consciousness.
Raphael Mahler provided a Marxist take on this theory, claiming that it was a
class-conscious movement of the Jewish masses, “a ‘common rabble’ of
innkeepers, small (p.206) shopkeepers, brokers, petty tradesmen (officially
termed Betrueger, or swindlers), and poor, unemployed people” oppressed by
the reactionary states of Eastern Europe.19
These views, held widely until today, were challenged by many historians. Israel
Halpern and Yeshayahu Shachar, for example, proved on various sources that
Hasidism was in no way more sensitive to the social injustice than non-Hasidic
homiletics of the time, and it had no clear social vision. Halpern analyzed tax
statutes signed by, among others, Hasidic emissary R. Aharon of Karlin.20 For
Dinur, the statutes served as a proof of a social interest of R. Aharon and, by
implication, of the movement he represented. Halpern’s vivid analysis proved
that R. Aharon did not initiate these statutes and did not play any significant role
in the process of writing them. Similarly, Shachar compared Hasidic and non-
Hasidic homiletics and found out that non-Hasidic sources are even more
socially oriented than Hasidic masters.21
Also, Shmuel Ettinger rejected Dinur’s thesis, proving that many of the well-
known early Hasidim were not members of the secondary intelligentsia, and
numerous members of this class remained indifferent or hostile to the
movement.22 It seems, however, that this argument was as weak as the opposite
one, as both were based on individual and unrepresentative cases.
An important challenge to the deprivation theories, which painted the early

Hasidim as the holy paupers, was made by Moshe Rosman, who analyzed the
social position of the Besht and proved that he was not a poor outsider but a
respected member of the rabbinical elite.23 However, this argument is eventually
of little relevance for our analysis, too, as Rosman proves also that in the time of
the Besht, Hasidism was not yet a movement, so the position of the alleged
founder tells us nothing about the social profile of the movement two or three
generations later. After all, one tends not to believe that every Christian comes
from a carpenter’s family.
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Economy
(p.207) A research on wealthy patrons of Hasidism, initiated by Ignacy Schiper

in 1942 (but published only 50 years later)24 introduced an important corrective
to the existing state of research on the economic profile of Hasidism by
investigating it beyond the year 1800. Still, even if very valuable for our
understanding of social and political development of the movement, these
studies are of similarly limited use for our understanding of the socioeconomic
profile of the Hasidim, as they are all based on anecdotal material limited to a
few individuals. As such, they cannot respond to the question of whether these
few rich Hasidim we know about were exceptions or the rule.
Thus, we are still far from arriving at any definitive conclusions or a thorough
picture of the socioeconomic profile of Hasidism. Representative statistical data
that would allow us a view into these structures have never been gathered and
possibly do not exist. What we have instead is mainly anecdotal and
impressionistic material, often biased and self-contradictory. As a result of this
far-reaching critique of the traditional claims and methodological and source
problems, the issue of the socio-occupational profile ceased to be one of the
central subjects in contemporary studies of Hasidism.
Does it mean, however, that the movement had no social profile and was
economically blind?
Doctrine and Its Impact

One learns that Hasidism was not economically blind from the relatively
systematic, though simple, economic thought formulated by its leaders, above all
on the economic role of the tsadik and the mutual codependency between the
tsadik and his followers.25 The Hasidim were responsible for maintaining their
spiritual leader as much as the tsadik was responsible for his followers’ material
prosperity. The Hasidim’s responsibility was expressed in the idea and custom of
pidyon ha-nefesh (“the redemption of the soul” in Hebrew), that is, the
traditional payment made by a Hasid during a visit to the tsadik (on this, see
chapter 3). From the economic point of view, its basic function was to maintain
the tsadik and his court; (p.208) but in ideological terms, it had its justification
harking back to kabbalistic tradition and a mystical function.26 As the Hasidic
literature has it, the lack of such dependence, in other words the failure by a
Hasid to pay pidyon, meant that he could not be offered aid.27
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Economy
However, for our study, the opposite dependence is more important, that is, the
doctrine recognizing the tsadik’s responsibility for his followers’ material
prosperity. It was based on faith in the tsadik’s unlimited power as an
intermediary between Divine grace and the human world, to which the tsadik
brings riches and plenty. Although the tsadik is boundlessly greater than normal
people, he understands their problems and does not criticize those who, instead
of studying the Torah, must spend all their time supporting themselves. He
understands too that this is the work of Satan, who is trying not only to deprive
them of life everlasting but of happiness in the here and now.28 The tsadik’s task
is to oppose this. As the eighteenth-century tsadik Menaḥem Naḥum of
Chernobyl [Czarnobyl] put it, “The fact is that the tsadik is the foundation of the
world (Prov 10:25). He is the foundation and the channel through which divine
bounty and life flow down into the world and to all creatures. . . . How right and
proper, then, that he be the intermediary between the blessed Creator and the
full world, binding all to Him so that bounty flows to His creatures along the
path that he, the tsadik, has set out by his devotion and attachment.”29
Furthermore, the tsadik is not just the intermediary but is also the depository
and even the owner of all earthly possessions, for, as R. Avraham Yoshua Heshel
of Apt [Opatów] explained, “God has given me the silver and gold needed for
service [to God] and I divide and distribute them among our people who stand in
the shade of my tree. That is why all the wealth belongs to me.”30 From this
derives the tsadik’s power, but also his responsibility to distribute this
abundance appropriately: because the tsadik is the channel through which the
plenty flows down to his whole (p.209) generation, he is responsible not only
for the spiritual but also material prosperity of his followers. The Hasidim would
turn to the tsadikim for such aid, while the tsadikim felt themselves responsible
for the material prosperity of the Hasidim and were even frustrated when they
were unable to provide them with enough assistance.31
The tsadik’s responsibility for material matters was rooted in the Hasidic
doctrine of banei, hayei u-mezonei, or “offspring, life, and sustenance,” as
explained in chapter 3. In addition, the Hasidic interpretation of the idea of
emunah u-vitaḥon (faith and trust), that is, the need for unqualified trust in
God’s care, could also have been a factor spurring the Hasidim to economic
activity.32 As it was explained by R. Yitzḥak Kalisz of Vorke [Warka] (1779–1848),
“each instance of aid from God occurs naturally, and the individual is obligated
to search for naturally-occurring methods of intervention.”33 In other words,
God helps those who help themselves. Unlike in some sectors of the twentieth-
century ḥaredi community, the nineteenth-century Hasidim did not display a
disregard for economic activities nor an inability to comply with the
requirements of economic life.
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Economy
Charity, repeatedly stressed in both the teachings of the tsadikim and the social
practices of the Hasidic community, was another idea of distinct economic
consequences. The Hasidim regarded wealth as belonging to the people of Israel
as a whole rather than to individuals and as a gift from God conditional upon the
practice of charity. On one hand, this idea encouraged charity, thus a very
traditional way of relieving social inequality; but on the other hand, it annulled
the tensions resulting from the existence of this inequality and sanctioned
wealth as a just reward for a pious life. What is more, Hasidic literature
indicates that the tsadikim insisted on giving to the recipients of charity not the
fish but rather the fishing rod. The Hasidic ideal and ethos of charity might have
had, thus, economic implications contrary to the accepted knowledge on charity
as a destabilizing factor. It was not only a means of curbing the excesses of
economic inequality but also a powerful tool of economic mobilization and
empowerment, at least for some Hasidim.34
(p.210) This does not mean that the redistribution of material riches was a
completely uncontroversial issue. The natural tension came if only from
Hasidism’s view of itself as a poor movement, but extended beyond the issue of
self-image and entered the realm of socioeconomic reality. Some tsadikim
continued a custom attributed originally to the Besht of donating immediately to
the poor all the money they gathered during the day so that nothing would
remain with them overnight.35 There were also tsadikim famous for their
proverbial self-imposed poverty. Hasidic tradition described this in terms of the
controversy between R. Ya’akov Yitzḥak Horowitz of Lublin, who supported
enrichment so as to worship God through riches, and R. Israel of Kozienice, who
insisted on poverty to worship God despite poverty, hence more altruistically.
However, a Hasidic writer describing this controversy, Moshe Menaḥem Walden,
takes the side of R. Ya’akov Yitzḥak of Lublin for, invoking the canonical text of
the Mishnah (Pirkei avot 2,2), he remarks that the Torah is truly beautiful only
when it is aligned with earthly matters.36 It would seem too that this outlined the
dominant direction of Hasidic economic doctrine.
It is very difficult to assess how far Hasidic doctrine influenced the real
economic behavior of the Hasidim, for the relationship between ideology and
real attitudes can be extremely complex. Hagiographical tales of poor Hasidim
asking their tsadik for aid and of a miracle by which they became rich provide an
idealized picture of these behaviors. For instance, R. David of Lelów ordered a
poor follower of his to buy garlic. The following day, the weather was so bad at
the market that no one but the Hasid was selling; a merchant appeared who
absolutely wanted to buy some garlic and eventually gave his horse for it. The
Hasid sold the horse, and with the proceeds he bought two, then sold them, and
so on until he became wealthy.37
Page 9 of 44
Economy
This is one of hundreds of such tales.38 In a model that repeats in many of them,
the Hasid always consults with the tsadik about his financial plans, for which we
find confirmation in the kvitlekh, as analyzed in chapter 3. More important, faith
in the tsadik’s aid is not demotivating; quite the opposite, it spurs the Hasid to
economic activity, to constantly taking (p.211) up new challenges and to a
belief in the positive effect of these efforts, which increases the chance of
economic success. Although this is only a hagiographical story, the image of
economic activism must have been at least partially accurate, as it is confirmed
in autobiographical sources, recounting real actions by real people behaving like
the protagonists in the hagiographical stories, even if the miraculous element
being replaced by hard work and positive outcome is not guaranteed.39
So, we should ask, because Hasidism’s economic doctrine and ethos really
influenced the economic behavior of the Hasidim, could they have a real and
quantifiable effect on their economic and professional profile? And if so, what
was it?
Method, Sources, Data

To answer this question, we need first to consider how it is possible to arrive at
reliable data regarding the socioeconomic profile of the Hasidim.
The traditional opinions on social profile of Hasidism were usually based on

Hasidic literature and various anti-Hasidic testimonies, that is, internal sources,
quite often of a polemical or apologetic nature. This kind of source, however
interesting, can teach us what a perception or self-perception of the social
profile of Hasidism was; but because of bias, its reliability was naturally very
limited. What is more, as hinted at previously, anecdotal sources of this kind can
tell us about individual Hasidim, usually rich and powerful, but not about more
general structures of the rank and file, that is, the overwhelming majority of the
Hasidim.
What I suggest instead is not surprising. The socio-occupational structure of the

Hasidic movement, as of any other group, should be analyzed primarily through
quantitative data on whole Hasidic groups. If anecdotal materials of
nonquantitative data are to be consulted, they should be read only afterward, in
light of the quantitative research, rather than the other way round. To do so, for
my sample analysis, I have investigated quantitative sources from nearly every
Jewish community in Central Poland (Congress Poland) between the years 1815
and 1867. The procedure was to find a reliable list of Hasidim in a given locality
and to compare it with the rolls of communal taxes or any lists based on the
income, wealth, or economic position of a taxpayer. The questions were: what
was the average (p.212) tax paid by an average Hasid as opposed to an
average non-Hasid? What was their distribution by tax bracket? What was their
position within these categories? Which professions were overrepresented or
underrepresented among Hasidim?
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Economy
Lists of the taxes paid to a Jewish community are relatively easy to find, at least
in Central Poland, because every year they had to be submitted to and confirmed
by the state authorities. They recorded the exact sum to be paid by each person,
their tax category, and sometimes also a taxpayer’s profession, address, and
other data.
Lists of Hasidim are not so easy to find because no institution kept a detailed
record of them. The best would be the lists of ma’amadot, dues paid regularly by
every Hasid to his tsadik. Although we are aware such lists existed, I was unable
to locate even a single such list. However, it happened that either Jewish
communities, or the state authorities, or Hasidim themselves made other kind of
lists. Four such lists constitute the core of my analysis (see Figure 6.1).
In Częstochowa, in 1820, on the

occasion of a clash between the
Hasidim and the non-Hasidic
majority, the Hasidim issued a
petition to the local authorities
signed by fourteen people who
called themselves “We, the
Hasidim of Częstochowa.”40 It
did not say that the list covered
all the Hasidim of the town.
However, also in 1820, their
opponents complained about “a
dozen or so (kilkunastu)
superstitious characters,”
suggesting fewer than twenty.
This is, in fact, highly probable,
because as late as 1839, the
Hasidic population of
Częstochowa was only 20–25
families.41
Figure 6.1. Congress Poland, ca. 1830.

Four communities, for which we have
data on the economic status of Hasidim,
with indications of the date of the source
and the number of Jews living there.
Page 11 of 44
Economy
The context and the author of the list from Aleksandrów [Aleksander], 1834, are
unknown, except for the fact that the list was delivered to the state authorities
by the leaders of the Jewish community at the time of communal clashes with the
emerging Hasidic group. The list gives 21 names, that is, about 11% of the
town’s Jewish population.42 It is possible that the number of Hasidim in
Aleksandrów was higher. What is important, (p.213) (p.214) however, is that
the list covers all social strata, which makes it representative, even if not
complete.
In Koniecpol, in 1837, a complaint from the leaders of the Jewish community

forced the provincial authorities to investigate the matter of local Hasidism. As a
result, several representatives of the community and the leaders of the local
Hasidic group were questioned. The report of the interview, countersigned by all
the parties involved, was supplemented by a list of thirteen Hasidim.43
Possibly the most reliable list comes from Włocławek (see Figure 6.2). In many
Jewish communities in Poland at that time, the communities levied a tax on
Torah reading, which originated from traditional donations or bids given by
those called for Torah reading during a service in a synagogue. In 1837, the
Hasidim in Włocławek refused to pay their share of the tax, claiming that they
did not read the Torah in the synagogue and that the tax levied on their prayer
hall was inflated. As a result, they had to submit the list recording everyone
called to Torah in the Hasidic prayer hall.44 This seems to be a highly reliable list
of all, or close to all, the Hasidim in Włocławek because it was double-checked
by both Hasidim and the anti-Hasidic tax collector. Moreover, the list covers a
long period of time (eighteen months), and some donations were very low, which
indicates that the list also included the poorest classes. It contains nineteen
names, that is, about 15% of adult Jewish men in Włocławek. This number is very
close to other estimates based on other sources, so the list seems relatively
reliable.45
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Economy
Altogether, the lists come from Figure 6.2. Włocławek. This late
one large town, two middle-size nineteenth-century image of the town,
towns, and one small hamlet, with the building of the cathedral
both places of Hasidic dominating the cityscape, clearly
prominence and places of identifies the town’s ecclesiastical
marginal Hasidic presence, in heritage. Until the beginning of the
the north, the center, and the nineteenth century, Jews were forbidden
south of Congress Poland. The to settle in Włocławek. Once they did, one
total Jewish population of these of the most important occupations of a
four communities in 1827 was significant number of wealthy Jews was in
2,614 people, that is, 0.7% of the grain trade on the Vistula river.
the Jewish population in
From: Lithograph by Maksymilian Fajans,
Congress Poland. The rolls of
from the original by Alfons Matuszkiewicz
taxpayers in these four
(1854). The National Library in Warsaw,
communities cover 691
Zbiory Ikonograficzne, A.5542/ G.XIX/ II–
people,46 of which 67 are
73, pl. 7.
recorded as Hasidim, of whom
50 were identified on the tax
rolls. The Hasidim there represented various branches: a group (p.215) in
Aleksandrów followed the tsadik of Przysucha, a group in Częstochowa followed
the tsadik of Radoszyce, and Włocławek and Koniecpol were unidentified. Of
course, the population of ten to twenty Hasidic families in the communities
studied is too low to draw any reasonable statistical conclusions, so the data
cannot show actual proportions (if such ever existed) but only general trends.
So, what emerges from the sample analysis for these four Jewish communities?
There are two interconnected patterns.
First, in all of the communities the Hasidim were overrepresented, when

compared to non-Hasidim, in the upper three tax brackets, while extensively
underrepresented in the lowest tax brackets.47 This is represented in Table 6.1
and Figure 6.3. (p.216)
(p.217)
Page 13 of 44
Economy
Table 6.1 Hasidim in Aleksandrów, Częstochowa, Koniecpol, and Włocławek, 1820–1837, According to Tax Brackets
Aleksandrów Częstochowa Koniecpol Włocławek Together
Class Hasidim Non-H.a Hasidim Non-H. Hasidim Non-H. Hasidim Non-H. Hasidim Non-H.
1 3 (23%) 3 (2%) 0 11 (4%) 0 4 (4%) 2 (11%) 7 (4%) 5 (10%) 25 (4%)
2 2 (15%) 11 (8%) 3 (27%) 15 (6%) 2 (29%) 5 (6%) 2 (11%) 8 (5%) 9 (18%) 39 (6%)
3 3 (23% 33 (25%) 4 (36%) 36 (15%) 4 (57%) 11 (12%) 3 (16%) 13 (8%) 14 (28%) 93 (15%)
4 2 (15%) 46 (35%) 4 (36%) 72 (29%) 1 (14%) 28 (31%) 6 (32%) 45 (26%) 13 (26%) 191 (30%)
5 3 (23%) 28 (21%) 0 65 (26%) 0 24 (27%) 1 (5%) 53 (31%) 4 (8%) 170 (27%)
6 0 12 (9%) 0 48 (19%) 0 18 (20%) 5 (26%) 45 (26%) 5 (10%) 123 (19%)
Total 13 133 11 247 7 90 19 171 50 641

(a.) non-H. for non-Hasidim
Source: Lists of the Hasidim (see notes 40–44) and the following tax rolls: AGAD, collection: Komisja Województwa
Kaliskiego no. 713, pp. 3–33 (Częstochowa); Archiwum Państwowe w Łodzi, collection: Akta miasta Aleksandrowa no.
151, pp. 105–15; 157 (Aleksandrów); Archiwum Państwowe we Włocławku, collection: Naczelnik Powiatu
Włocławskiego no. 438, pp. 178–179, and collection: Akta miasta Włocławka no. 319 (Włocławek); Archiwum
Państwowe w Łodzi, collection: Anteriora Piotrkowskiego Rządu Gubernialnego no. 2512, pp. 117–120, 319–320, 336–
339 (Koniecpol).
Page 14 of 44
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Economy
What is interesting is that the

bulk of Hasidic
overrepresentation falls within
the second tax bracket: 18% of
the Hasidim and only 6% of
non-Hasidim lie here. Moreover,
within a given bracket, the
Hasidim belonging to the first
tax bracket quite often lay in
the bracket’s lower ranks. So,
for example, in Częstochowa,
where the tax on the first tax
Figure 6.3. Hasidim in Aleksandrów,
bracket ranged from 20 to 50
Częstochowa, Koniecpol, and Włocławek,
zloty, the Hasidim paid between
1820–1837, according to tax brackets (in
20 and 24 zloty, with an average
percentages).
of 22 zloty; and for the non-
Hasidim, the average was 28.50
zloty. What is more, though statistically overrepresented, the Hasidim were only
a fraction of this first bracket (five of 30 people together). In Koniecpol, of the
ten richest Jews paying between 63 and 18 zloty, the two Hasidim pay 22 and 18
zloty, respectively. This is especially interesting when confronted with the
narrative sources because these richest Hasidim, usually dominant in the local
Hasidic group, were often in open conflict with those who actually did pay the
highest taxes, that is, the economic elite of the community (we will return to this
anon). One could say they were not members of the “secondary intelligentsia,”
as Benzion Dinur once suggested, but rather the “secondary financial elite”
fighting for its social recognition.
(p.218) The second striking characteristic is the occupational structure of the

Hasidic communities.48 For two communities for which we have such data,
Hasidim are highly overrepresented in trade and finances, while being heavily
underrepresented among artisans. So, in Aleksandrów, 36% (46 households) of
the non-Hasidic Jewish population made their living in various forms of
commerce and finance, which was perfectly representative for a Jewish
community in Congress Poland in the nineteenth century.49 Among the Hasidim
this number was, however, 80%, double that of the non-Hasidim. The same was
true in Włocławek: 46% of non-Hasidic households made their living in
commerce (80 households), whereas among the Hasidim, this number was 65%.
The numbers for crafts are, respectively, 47% of non-Hasidim and 10% of
Hasidim in Aleksandrów, and 41% of non-Hasidim and 29% of Hasidim in
Włocławek. Table 6.2 and Figure 6.4 present these data.
Page 15 of 44
Economy
Table 6.2 Occupational Structure of the Jewish Communities in Aleksandrów and Włocławek, ca. 1830–1837
Aleksandrów Włocławek Together Together (%)
Hasidim Non-H.a Hasidim Non-H. Hasidim Non-H. Hasidim Non-H.
Trade 16 46 11 80 27 126 73% 42%
Crafts 2 60 5 71 7 131 19% 43%
Unskilled 0 22 0 16 0 38 0% 13%
workers
Kahal 2 0 1 7 3 7 8% 2%
officials,
teachers,
beggars
Total 20 128 17 174 37 302 100% 100%

(a.) non-H. for non-Hasidim
Source: See Table 6.1.
Page 16 of 44
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Economy
What is more, among these

engaged in commerce, the
Hasidim are visibly
overrepresented in more
prestigious and wealthier
commercial categories, that is,
merchants (kupcy), agents
(faktorzy), and holders of a
liquor franchise (propinatorzy),
and underrepresented among
Figure 6.4. Occupational structure of the
petty traders (handlarze),
Jewish communities in Aleksandrów and
hucksters (przekupnicy),
Włocławek, ca. 1830–1837.
peddlers (domokrążcy), and
junk merchants (tandeciarze).
The concentration in trade and finances seems closely correlated with the
overrepresentation in higher tax classes, as representatives of these professions
regularly occupied the highest economic and social positions in traditional
Jewish society in Eastern Europe. Disrespect for crafts was so strongly imprinted
into this society’s value system, one of the memoirists recalled, that “[t]he
greatest disgrace in a family was to have a relative who worked as a craftsman;
families of high status boasted with the greatest pride that they had no such
stain.”50
(p.219) Interesting patterns emerge also within two other groups of

professions. Whereas unskilled workers made up 13% among non-Hasidim, they
were totally absent among Hasidim. This stands in stark contrast with the group
of “free professions,” such as beggars and teachers, but mostly a variety of
religious functionaries, among whom the Hasidim are, again, overrepresented.
This seems perfectly plausible once we compare Hasidism with other religious
confraternities, for which the overrepresentation of religious functionaries
seems to (p.220) be a permanent feature. However, in both categories, the
numbers are too low to be statistically significant. Hopefully, further research
will shed more light on the matter and clarify whether this indicates a real
pattern.
How Reliable?
In light of persistent opinion on Hasidic poverty and Raphael Mahler’s
persuasive argument about Hasidism being the movement of “the impoverished,
suffering retarded petty bourgeois and lumpenproletarian masses,”51 the
preceding data might seem surprising.
Page 17 of 44
Economy
On second thought, however, the overrepresentation of the rich and merchants

among the Hasidim should not be so surprising, as many contemporary sources
indicated both Hasidic wealth and their low numbers in the crafts. What is
surprising is so close a subordination of historiography to ideology, thus making
historians blind to a plentiful supply of testimony challenging their long-held
beliefs. For example, the previously mentioned Jacques Calmanson wrote about
the teaching of Hasidism that “in public it conceals personal gain with all
manner of neglect, but clandestinely it does not have sympathy with such a
belief,” suggesting a high interest in economic success.52 Equally, David
Friedländer, a radical maskil from Berlin, wrote that the tsadikim were generous
and charitable; however, this generosity emanated not from their own pockets
but from the purses of their wealthy followers.53 Galician maskil Josef Perl even
drew up a list of the most typical professions of the Hasidim, these being the
positions of leaseholder, stall-keeper, peddler, and innkeeper.54 Usually, these
claims were interpreted as an expression of the maskilic rhetoric of the
“productivization” of “parasitic” elements in Jewish society, which it undoubtedly
was. However, in light of the preceding data, we should reconsider these claims
not as empty accusations but rather as reflecting actual, even if distorted,
occupational structures among the Hasidim.55
Page 18 of 44
Economy
(p.221) Not only biased maskilic accounts but even more so countless archival
resources corroborate this image. For example, in 1830 in Pilica, the state
authorities had the local synagogue closed because of its run-down condition
and the risk of its collapse. When the Jewish community ordered contributions
for renovations, the local Hasidim refused to pay. The elders of the community
addressed the government with a request to forbid the Hasidim holding “secret
meetings and gatherings” and to force them to pay all taxes. The elders
complained: “there dwells among the Mosaic inhabitants of the first and second
[tax] bracket a sect of Hasidim who pray in private homes and thus have refused
to make any voluntary contribution to the restoration of the synagogue.”56 In
other words, the Jewish community board claimed that the local Hasidic group
was comprised of members of the two highest tax brackets. In Aleksandrów in
1834, analyzed previously, on the occasion of the sale of pews in the synagogue,
the Jewish community board reported that the income was very low because a
significant number of Jews from the first tax bracket had abandoned the
synagogue and had established their own Hasidic prayer hall.57 In 1837, a tax-
collector in Włocławek complained that “the biggest and wealthiest families
belong to this sect.”58 The same was true in Płock, Kazimierz, Działoszyce,
Radoszyce, Międzyrzec, Radomsko, Rypin, Szydłowiec, and many other places
for which we have archival records.59 This is also confirmed by nineteenth-
century memoirs, for example, from Lwów, Tarnów, and Radomyśl in Galicia60;
as well as post-Holocaust memorial books of Jewish communities, for example,
on Turobin, Przytyk, Husiatyn, Goniądz, and Dąbrowa area.61 Testimonies of
Hasidic wealth are numerous—they cover the whole period of the nineteenth
and early twentieth centuries and nearly all regions of Hasidic influence.
(p.222) A similar pattern of the dominance of merchants and the

underrepresentation of craftsmen can be traced in the kvitlekh, as mentioned in
chapter 3. Among the professions mentioned there, craftsmen are as rare as
15%, while 71% are professions connected one way or another with commerce,
credit, and leases; 13% are free professions; and 1% unskilled workers (see
Figure 6.5).62 The proximity of these numbers to the data from the four
investigated communities is indicative, even if not everybody placing a kvitl had
to be a Hasid, and those who decided to record their professions on their
kvitlekh did not have to be perfectly representative of all the others.
Page 19 of 44
Economy
Also, much later and in a very

different context of interwar
Poland, similar proportions
transpire in the registers of the
students of Chabad yeshiva
Tomkhei Temimim in Warsaw
and Vilna in the years 1924–
1931. Of the 246 students, for
whom we know the profession
of their fathers, 54% (133) come
from the families engaged in
commerce, 16% were artisans,
25% were religious
functionaries, and only 2% were
unskilled workers.63 Even if one
believes that the lists were
distorted by the fact that
yeshiva education was available
mostly for the rich, one has to
notice high overrepresentation Figure 6.5. “I pledge the Rebbe—may he
of religious functionaries, live long days—to pray for me, because I
including proverbially poor am in a great trouble. First, a certain
religious teachers (15 Christian named Aleksander owes me
melamedim; 6%) or ritual many thousands of zlotys in cash and is
slaughterers (22 shoḥatim; 9%), still deceiving me. . . . Also, I am worried,
so families comparable in their because for a long time I had no source of
poverty to artisans or unskilled income. The Lord helped me in His great
workers. The professional mercy, as I rented a house from a certain
overrepresentation of families Christian, named Bogumił Potoszek,
engaged in commerce and free arranged an inn there, and, thanks God, I
professions among the students have an honest source of income.” This
of the yeshiva resulted, thus, at kvitl submitted to R. Eliyahu Guttmacher
least partly from factors other by a moneylender and innkeeper from
than their income. Uniejów belongs to the most common
category of petitions submitted by
Explications
representatives of trade, moneylending,
and innkeeping.
From: The Archives of the YIVO Institute
for Jewish Research, New York, RG27:
Eliyahu Guttmacher, box 1, folder 8.
Page 20 of 44
Economy
If the material assembled in the preceding is to be believed, we need to ask a

question that is canonical for the sociology of religion on the nature of the
relationship between socioprofessional status and membership of (p.223) (p.
224) Hasidism. Do religious movements, sects, and churches achieve economic
success by attracting richer people, or do they enrich their followers?64 As I
shall try to establish, the case of Hasidism suggests that this opposition is
notional, that Hasidism’s relative affluence arose both from the fact that it
attracted representatives of the economic elite and that it helped its followers
enrich themselves, and furthermore, both these mechanisms were dependent on
one another.
Both anti-Hasidic critics as well as the Hasidim themselves frequently confirmed

that the Hasidim were especially eager to recruit wealthy people (see Figure
6.6). Dr. Schönfeld, a lesser known maskil from Kalisz, claimed in his report in
1820 that Hasidism expanded in size and in power exactly “by attracting wealthy
Jews.”65 In the second half of the nineteenth century, the Chabad-Lubavitch
dynasty, the most powerful Hasidic group in Belarus, actually became dependent
on the political and financial support of the Jewish bourgeoisie in St. Petersburg
and Moscow.66
The interest of Hasidism in

attracting wealthy people
resulted from rather obvious
circumstances: the membership
of people of high status
conferred prestige on the
group, while their fortunes were
a key tool of social and political
influence, especially important
at the time of Hasidism’s
intense politicization during the
later nineteenth century. Money
was needed to pay for the
expenses of political
intercession, lobbying, running
the expenses of Hasidic courts,
prayer halls, institutions of
social care, and more.
Page 21 of 44
Economy
Hasidism was so involved in Figure 6.6. The anti-Hasidic critic and

recruiting wealthy people that most influential of the Polish maskilim,
this led to tension between the Abraham Jakub Stern (1769–1842), in his
privileged status of the wealthy, report on Hasidism (1818) claimed that
on one hand, and the strongly the four major groups whom the tsadikim
emphasized equality of all “strove to beguile and ensnare” were
Hasidim on the other. In one “young people and less prudent
story, a tsadik was explaining to Israelites, especially the rich and
a frustrated poor man how he women” (AGAD, CWW no. 1871, pp. 43–
had to spend more time with 46). His harsh anti-Hasidic criticism, and
the wealthy than with the poor, especially its socioeconomic arguments,
for a wealthy man is so influenced several governmental
harassed that he doesn’t even investigations related to Hasidism.
know what he needs and for
From: National Library of Israel in
what he should ask, so the
Jerusalem, Shvadron Collection.
tsadik needs more time to find
this out. The situation is
different for the poor who know at once what they need—they need living
expenses. This same tsadik explained too the Talmudic maxim in which the
ancient Jewish leader and codifier of the Mishnah, Judah ha-Nasi, afforded the
rich man (p.225) (p.226) special respect (TB Eruvin 86a). “This could be
misunderstood. . . . [T]he Rabbi taught that God must have had a reason for
blessing a particular person with wealth. There must have been some merit in
this favoritism. It is for this merit, but not for his wealth, that Rabbi Judah
honored such a man.”67 Thus the Hasidic interpretation approximated the
Protestant doctrine of wealth as a sign of God’s blessing. The resultant
ideological tension was defused in such a way that its interpretation supported
economic activity. Using the language of Max Weber, Hasidism—like many
religious movements before it—used the “theodicy of disprivilege” when he
spoke of ideal poverty and the “theodicy of good fortune,” encouraging his
followers to economic activity.68
Page 22 of 44
Economy
It was possible to gain disproportionately extensive support among the wealthy

because Hasidism was in a position to offer them “benefits” unavailable outside
Hasidism. The first was a sense of belonging to an elite group of people who saw
themselves as more devout following a better—or at least unavailable to
everyone—form of ecstatic and mystical religiousness. Despite the theory of
deprivation, which holds that followers of strict religious movements recruit
among the lower classes seeking compensation for the earthly riches unavailable
to them, Hasidism is not the only religious group with intensive forms of
religiousness that is especially attractive to members of the upper classes.69
Constructing a group identity based on a sense of elitism had been evident in
Hasidism from the start and was clearly effective. As a chronicler from Ratno,
Volhynia, recalled, “craftsmen were not Hasidim. . . . They felt that in terms of
devotion they did not come up to the Hasidim’s knees. This came about mainly
because the Hasidim were engaged in trade and put on airs, setting themselves
up as a higher caste with its own practices.”70 The mechanism worked the other
way too, not just frightening poor craftsmen away from Hasidism but also
attracting wealthy merchants.71 Hence Hasidism was perceived (p.227) as an
appropriate community for the better-heeled social classes, and thus created
elite structures providing its members with prestige and a feeling of superiority.
Page 23 of 44
Economy
Another factor in the recruitment of representatives of better-heeled groups by

Hasidism might have been the conflicts, frequent at that time, between
competing interest groups. For example, from the 1820s, two families competed
for dominance in the Jewish community in Włocławek, Central Poland. When in
the early 1830s one of them took the upper hand, a leader of the losing group, a
wealthy merchant Majer Rypiński and his supporters, identified themselves as
Hasidim and, by establishing their own prayer hall, separated from the Jewish
community. The community elders complained to the local authorities that “the
only source of this sect’s origin is that they wanted to avoid taxes,”72 which
indeed happened with the group’s subsequent evasion of contributing to the
communal budget. This was possible because in most areas of Eastern Europe in
the nineteenth century, the Hasidic movement managed to gain special status
freeing itself from direct control by the Jewish communities. In Galicia, the law
allowed the Hasidim to open their prayer halls without any control by the Jewish
community.73 The same was decreed by the 1804 Jewish law in Russia.74 In
Congress Poland after 1824, Hasidim became the only Jewish group whose right
to establish prayer halls and to separate from the Jewish community was
guaranteed by law. In the previously mentioned Włocławek, the Jewish
community board claimed that this led to a situation in which anybody willing to
evade communal obligations, and especially people in the highest tax brackets,
joined the Hasidic group. This was most likely a gross exaggeration, but it seems
that Hasidism might indeed have been attractive to some members of the
community’s economic elite, and especially to groups of the secondary financial
elite, because it opened for them a way to free themselves from social burdens
and oppressive social and economic control by the Jewish community. This
seems to be a typical situation of using religious identity as a means of defining
and strengthening the cohesiveness of a group to overcome a (p.228) situation
of blocked ascendancy. In strife between two competing groups, Hasidism
opened to one of them, usually the weaker one, an easy and safe way to establish
an independent clientele net and to free itself from the dominance of the
competing group. In fact, numerous anti-Hasidic critics claimed that Hasidic
prayer halls were just a form of escape for rich members of the community from
their financial obligations toward the poor and a kind of tax shelter. As the
community board complained about the Hasidim in Kazimierz in 1862, “Though
this minority is richer and pays a significant part of the communal tax, it is only
this tax that it pays and it does not participate in any other communal
expenses.”75 Of course, this was not entirely correct. Those rich followers of
Hasidism did contribute to charity and did pay for the poor. But instead of being
subject to the communal authorities and, thus, removed from any real influence
on the distribution of the funds, they chose to belong to and support a Hasidic
net of voluntary participation. This was not only psychologically, but also socially
and economically, much more rewarding, as it created a more cohesive, effective
net of dependencies.76
Page 24 of 44
Economy
At the time of Hasidism’s development in the eighteenth and nineteenth

centuries, socioeconomic conflicts were intensified by a demographic boom
experienced by East-European Jews. As suggested by Hillel Rapoport and Avi
Weiss, any minority that grows beyond an optimal size, in either relative or
absolute numbers, becomes less cohesive; its economic and occupational
structure tends to be more diversified, with a growing number of inner-group
tensions, and a decreasing level of social trust.77 The model perfectly fits the
rapid demographic transition of the eighteenth-century Jewish community in
Poland–Lithuania, which became too large in both absolute and relative numbers
to be able to stay cohesive and to preserve its social structure of concentration
in some economic niches.78 The cultural category of being Jewish then became
increasingly economically defunct. In such a situation, if any new cultural
category emerges that can subdivide the general dysfunctional group into
smaller, (p.229) functional communities, it has a good chance of becoming
economically important. I suggest that might have been the case with Hasidism.
Finally, we must not forget that Hasidism was relatively more accessible for the
better-heeled classes because it required a certain amount of cultural capital,
without which entry to the Hasidic community was difficult. Even if a mass
movement, this was not a movement for everyone. Despite the dominant image
of Hasidic populism and egalitarianism, the movement’s leaders drew on a
knowledge of religious texts, kabbalistic tradition, and some religious
knowledge, inaccessible to poorly educated and thus poor Jews, in their
activities.79 At least for some this worked as a deterrent.
Page 25 of 44
Economy
This relationship of affluence and cultural capital is important because it reveals

the complex nature of the relationship between affluence and Hasidism. As we
recall, Hasidism aimed to attract not only the wealthy but also young, well-
educated yeshiva students, the intellectual elite or people aspiring to it.80 A
great many of them later became rich, whether because they inherited a fortune
(talented yeshiva students were a desired match for any wealthy family) or
because of cultural capital that provided them with an opportunity to get rich. In
other words, Hasidism attracted not only wealthy people but also those who
would have an opportunity in the future to improve their social and material
status. Furthermore, even if some of the new Hasidim were poor, like Yudel
Eliaszowicz of Vilna who admitted, “I joined the Karlin sect [i.e., the Hasidim] on
account of my impoverished state,”81 on the whole, they were people of high
social mobility able to improve their status and aiming to do so. In other words,
one of the factors attracting to Hasidism both wealthy people, as well as those
with the potential to enrich themselves, was precisely a perspective of improving
their social, as well as indirectly their material, status. In general terms,
Hasidism, just like many other religious movements,82 attracted people who
were aiming to improve their status, which in their opinion did not reflect their
true situation. As we recall, the Hasidim were (p.230) overrepresented among
“the secondary financial elite,” often in open conflict with the traditional elite of
the community and fighting for social recognition.
There were, in addition, many more mechanisms helping Hasidim to get rich.
The first one was the doctrine, mentioned before. Despite its ambivalence
toward wealth, Hasidism supported enrichment; some tsadikim strongly
encouraging their followers toward it.83 Somewhat paradoxically, Hasidism did
not socialize its followers into the values traditionally recognized as helpful to
enrichment: industry, thrift, perseverance. There is much to suggest that anti-
Hasidic critics were correct in claiming that they were foreign to Hasidism.
Instead, Hasidism linked economic activity with what was central to its ideology:
faith in the power of the tsadik who was responsible for his followers’ success,
identifying affluence with a basic doctrinal concept.
It was also Hasidic charity and solidarity, as both religious ideals and the
practical ethos of Hasidic groups, that might have contributed to their relative
prosperity. Hasidic solidarity is a well-known feature of the movement, endlessly
confirmed by both the Hasidim themselves and their maskilic critics. Joseph
Margoshes, the son of a Hasidic political activist in nineteenth-century Galicia,
described the shtibl (in Galicia called kloyz) in Lwów of the 1880s, highlighting
the interrelation of solidarity and the economic aspects of its activities:
Page 26 of 44
Economy
The balebatim [members] of the Kloyz shared a great unity and love. They
considered themselves to be members of one family, even the wealthiest
among them. If someone among them experienced joy or pain, almost all of
them would get involved, even if a person were poorer than them. There
were several well-off balebatim in the Kloyz who earned their entire
income from the wealthier members of the group. They acted as brokers
for the wealthy men’s businesses or received generous long-term loans to
enable them to engage in trade and support themselves in an honorable
manner. Their status was due to their association with the Kloyz.84
What is revealing in this testimony is not the well-known ideal of solidarity itself,
but rather how it translated into economic activities. The wealthy (p.231)
Hasidim gave their poorer comrades a chance to start again and improve their
economic standing.85 The Hasidic cell did not replace traditional ways of
starting and running a business with family, in-laws, and communal support, but
it delivered additional economic opportunities for its members, which, in turn,
gave them a relative advantage over non-Hasidic sectors of the Jewish
community.
Page 27 of 44
Economy
An excellent example of how Hasidic solidarity worked in the economic realm

has been preserved by Yekhezkel Kotik in his nineteenth-century recollections on
Kamieniec Litewski in Belarus. When a wealthy flour merchant was suspected by
the Hasidim of informing against their tsadik, they decided to bring the
suspected informer to bankruptcy by the following simple scheme: the merchant
provided flour to all the local shopkeepers on credit and collected his payments
only when providing the next supply of flour, again on credit. The Hasidim
informed all the shopkeepers in the area that they were not to pay the merchant
under the threat of a Hasidic ban. At the same time they informed the
shopkeepers that they would not be harmed and would receive flour because the
mill owners were forced under the ban to accept a new supplier. As Kotik writes,
“their scheme succeeded beyond all expectations.”86 The merchant-informer did
not manage to collect a single payment, lost most of his wealth, and had to
escape chased by young Hasidim throwing stones at him. Brought to the verge
of bankruptcy, he begged the Hasidim for mercy, which was granted to him on
condition that he come to the tsadik’s court, “walk into the presence of the
rebbe in his socks, and beg for forgiveness.” In addition, he was to pay nine
hundred rubles, and to “give his word of honor that he would take his sons to the
Slonimer rebbe’s court every year until they married. . . . In other words: he was
to become a Hasid! Nothing short of a conversion.”87 Thanks to their group
solidarity, the Hasidim, though a tiny minority (Kotik recorded there were no
more than 30 men, or 5–10%, in his town), managed to force the majority
population to accept their decisions and to restructure an aspect of economic
relations. Not only did they punish the flour merchant, but they also placed a
new flour supplier in an economically profitable position. But these economic
effects were not goals in themselves but rather instruments for social and
political influence.
(p.232) The fact that gain is not an ulterior goal of the Hasidic movement is
hardly surprising. Still, it is important to state it, as it makes for a broader
understanding of the nature of the interrelation between the economic and other
aspects of Hasidic history. The experience of solidarity was certainly an
important religious feature of the Hasidic movement. At the same time, as the
preceding example demonstrates, this found powerful expression in the social
and economic life of the Hasidim. Religion translated into an important
economic factor, which further translated into a powerful social and political
instrument, and finally, enhanced the movement’s religious cohesiveness.
Page 28 of 44
Economy
Another factor supporting Hasidic economic activity was the interrelation

between the Hasidim and their tsadik. Unlike the non-Hasidic population, the
Hasidim had at their disposal the external authority of a tsadik, who was both
the source of internal cohesiveness, of power whenever power was needed, and
of arbitration when arbitration was required.88 On numerous occasions the
tsadikim indeed intervened in the economic life of their followers, and
sometimes of whole communities, usually as defenders of the poor and the
premodern ethnic economies based on economic and social protectionism.89 As
already mentioned in chapter 3, arbitration was one such typical form of
socioeconomic intervention. Even if not totally free of expense, it was
significantly cheaper and more effective than noncooperative contract
enforcement; thus, it facilitated the economic prosperity of the Hasidim. As the
theory of contract enforcement suggests, cooperative markets based on
multilateral reputation mechanisms were usually more efficient than those based
on noncooperative grounds, where the cost of economic activity carried a high
risk of free-riding, expensive lawsuits, and official execution, and was therefore
relatively higher. The commercial success of many ethnic or religious minorities
in the premodern or early-modern world was based precisely on the strength of
such multilateral reputation mechanisms effectively reducing the costs of
contract enforcement.90
(p.233) At times, a tsadik was also a source of financial support when he

worked as a no-interest-loan charitable organization collecting money from the
rich and redistributing it to the poor. More often than in direct financial support,
though, the help of a tsadik was expressed by a blessing given to his follower’s
economic activities or, in some cases, by a joint venture in which the tsadik
invested his blessing and his follower invested money.91 In both cases, the
involvement of the tsadik was not only symbolic but served an important
function of branding the products of the blessed follower. Given their association
with the tsadik, the products become more desirable, at least to co-religionists,
thus increasing the chance of economic success.92 In late-nineteenth-century
Russia, the business especially affected by such joint ventures was insurance in
which a tsadik’s apparent ability to foretell and reverse God’s decrees was of
special importance for at least some policyholders as a kind of ultimate
insurance against undesirable events.93
Page 29 of 44
Economy
Moreover, even without the arbitration of a tsadik, his court, gathering many
people from a number of places, provided an ideal platform for potentially
profitable economic ventures, especially for the merchants, overrepresented
among the Hasidim in our statistical sample. Whereas non-Hasidic merchants
had to limit their commercial contacts to the immediate community and
traditional venues, mostly extended family and long-term business partners, the
Hasidim were able to add an extensive trans-territorial net of strong fraternal
contacts with their fellow Hasidim. Josef Perl, in his anti-Hasidic brochure Uiber
das Wesen der Sekte Hasidim, noted that most Hasidic pilgrimages took place in
the month of Tishri (September-October) because at that time, trade in farm
products began. Perl concluded that this allowed the tsadikim to exploit their
followers easily because at that time, they had ready cash.94 However, stripped
of polemics, Perl’s observation may have a more rational explanation. Autumn
pilgrimages were attractive to many merchants because they provided an
opportunity for good commercial contacts at the Hasidic court at exactly the
time when major contracts for agricultural products were signed. As numerous
accounts confirm, strong mutual trust and the solidarity of the (p.234) Hasidic
group led to situations in which “throngs of Hasidim from all areas of the land
gathered together, became friendly with one another and made business deals
with each other.”95 For a merchant, his Hasidic affiliation both considerably
extended his commercial contacts and provided a relatively wide and effective
net of reliable cooperation.
At the same time, Hasidism’s relative strictness was an effective mechanism

protecting it against a wave of “free-riders.” The intensity of religious life and
relations within the group, powerful mechanisms of social control, and finally
elements stigmatizing members of the group in the eyes of the external world
(e.g., different dress, odd customs) deterred individuals unwilling to invest any
major effort in group relations, who would reduce its cohesiveness and derive
much more benefit from membership in the group than contributing to it.96
Thanks to this strictness, Hasidism was able to maintain a high effectiveness in
intragroup relations, even when it had attained the considerable dimensions of
one of the largest Jewish religious movements in Eastern Europe. And thanks to
this, its economic mechanisms remained relatively effective.
Limitations
As for chronological and geographical boundaries, the quantitative data used
previously come from Congress Poland from the years 1820–1837. Formally, one
can thus claim that they properly, even if only vaguely, reflect the socio-
occupational structure of Hasidism in Central Poland in the first half of the
nineteenth century. However, rich material, mostly anecdotal, extending far
beyond early-nineteenth-century Congress Poland, suggests that the pattern
might have a more universal application.
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Economy
The best example comes from mid-nineteenth-century Stołpce in Belarus. In

1853, the local Hasidic group counted 39 men, which, following the same
assumptions as in the four Polish communities analyzed before, made up
between 12 and 15% of the local Jewish community. At the same (p.235) time
(1857), the Hasidim made up 24% or more97 of the community’s electors, that is,
the most powerful, wealthy, and respected members of the community.98
Although this is a far less precise measure than what we have for Congress
Poland, it strongly indicates a disproportionately high position of the Hasidim in
the local Jewish community in Stołpce. Many further anecdotal examples come
from other areas and other periods, too.99
I argue that the real boundaries of this sample material, either from Congress
Poland or Belarus, can be understood only if one considers the social context in
which the lists were completed. Each of the lists was created because of some
communal conflict between Hasidim and the non-Hasidic majority. If there had
been no conflict, there would have been no reason to turn to the authorities for
intervention; thus, no such list would have been completed. One might thus
assume that they reflect the stage of Hasidic institutional development within
the framework of a community when the group of Hasidim became strong
enough to create their own social structures and to come into an open conflict
with the community. In Congress Poland, it was the first half of the nineteenth
century when Hasidism made its most significant institutional development;
hence the lists come from this period. In other regions or some other locations in
Congress Poland, it could have happened at other periods, earlier or later, as the
aforementioned examples from the twentieth-century memoirs or memorial
books of Jewish communities suggest. In other words, the socio-occupational
structure outlined previously might have had a universal, trans-territorial
application, but mostly to a specific stage of Hasidic development after
achieving institutional maturity.
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Economy
But even after maturation, this image of relative prosperity and concentration in
trade did not have to apply to all Hasidim at all times and in all regions. It stands
to reason that becoming a mass movement, Hasidim had to become increasingly
diversified with both the rich and poor among them. If the institutional
maturation was terminus post quem, it seems that becoming a dominant
movement in a given area established a natural terminus ante quem, after which
Hasidim had to become (p.236) increasingly diversified with all the social
classes more or less equally represented among them.100 As Yekhezkel Kotik
recalled, “Hasidism suited every class of people, from poor to rich, from ignorant
to learned, from old to young.”101 Especially in areas of Hasidic dominance, such
as mid-nineteenth-century Galicia, the structure of the Hasidic community must
have become closer to the structure of the general Jewish population. There
were many Hasidic beggars, dependent on the support of their wealthy co-
religionists, who certainly did not fit the image of relative prosperity. Moreover,
it seems that in some regions, such as western Belarus, the Hasidim were on
average poorer than the non-Hasidic population.102 Another such case
contradicting the image of Hasidim as relatively richer was the Hasidic
settlement in Palestine, dependent on financial support from abroad and
generally living in poverty.
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Economy
What is, however, interesting is that data from the end of the nineteenth and the
first decades of the twentieth centuries indicate that in areas where the
movement had considerable influence, the decreasing significance of economic
differences between Hasidim and non-Hasidim did not lead to the complete
disappearance of differences between these two groups, and the Hasidim
continued to appear, on average, to be better placed. At the same time, the
significance of intra-Hasidic differences between the supporters of various
courts was growing. Some groups were commonly considered wealthier,
whereas others were seen as poor. For example, in Central Poland, the followers
of the tsadikim of Ger [Góra Kalwaria] were universally recognized as the most
affluent group. On Ger Hasidim in Bełchatów, one can read, for example, that
“Nearly all the manufacturers belonged to the Ger Hasidim. . . . Working people
were rarely found among them. One could notice that the Ger Hasidim had some
disdain for people working for a living.”103 There was a similar situation (p.
237) with followers of the tsadik of Aleksander [Aleksandrów]; for instance, in
Różan, this was the “town’s aristocracy.”104 The followers of the tsadik of Vorke
[Warka] were a far more diverse group,105 while the tsadikim of Khentshin
[Chęciny], Pintshev [Pinczów], Radoszyce, Radzymin, Turobin, or Wolbrom, for
the most part, focused on the poor.106 The data are especially interesting when
one compares them with the relative strength of the influence of specific courts:
Ger and Aleksander were the two most powerful courts in Congress Poland,
controlling, respectively, 24% and 14% of Hasidic prayer halls there. The court
at Vorke held a middle spot (9%), whereas the remaining named courts were
small groups (less than 2% each).107 An identical process of wealthy Hasidim
gathering around large and strict dynasties, and a parallel process of lesser
courts attracting the poor, could be seen too in Galicia, Ukraine, and Belarus. In
Galicia, followers of the most powerful dynasty in Sadagura (33% of all prayer
halls) were described as the “aristocracy among all the other Hasidim.”108 In
historic Lithuania, the followers of the Chabad-Lubavitch (39%) and Karlin-Stolin
(25%) dynasties were typically described as wealthy; whereas the followers of
Słonim, Kobryń, Koidanov [Kojdanów], Horodok, and smaller dynasties were
considered economically inferior. In Belarusian Telechany, for example, the
Hasidim divided into the followers of the tsadik of Stolin who were rich
businessmen, the followers of the middle-rank tsadik of Loibeshov [Lubieszów]
who were middle class, and the followers of the local tsadik of Yanova [Janów
Poleski] who were complete paupers.109 Again, we lack hard statistical data, and
there is the possibility of distortions and misperceptions in these popular
attributions—for example, projecting the wealth of the dynasty on the wealth of
its followers. Still, testimonies are consistent enough to suggest the perception
did reflect the economic reality behind it (see Figure 6.7).110
(p.238)
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Economy
The repeated regularity of

gathering richer and better
educated individuals at the
great and most powerful courts
appears to conflict with the
ideas of sociologists of religion,
according to whom larger
groups run a greater risk of
“free-riders.”111 The relative
benefit of membership should
be less than in the case of small Figure 6.7. The gradual
groups. Why would more embourgeoisement of the Hasidic
affluent Hasidim pick groups, leadership in the later nineteenth century
which were the least successful prompted many of them to adopt the
at improving their followers’ manners of wealthy bourgeoisie and to
status? travel to popular spas. R. Yitzḥak Kalisz
of Otwock, a moderately influential tsadik
This apparent paradox can be
of the Vorke (Otwock) dynasty, here
explained by an analysis of the
second from the left, frequented a
courts’ and their prayer halls’
moderately expensive spa in Krynica,
geographical location. As
Western Galicia. The wealthiest and most
explained in chapter 5, the
influential tsadikim of Ger, Aleksander
followers of lesser tsadikim
[Aleksandrów], or Bełz traveled abroad to
regularly clustered in the
fancy spas in Karlsbad or Marienbad, yet
immediate vicinity of their
another proof of the economic
courts. The great courts, on the
stratification of Hasidism.
other hand, saw their followers
From: Postcard, 1920s. In private
scattered over whole countries,
collection.
and the overwhelming majority
of their followers lived at a
distance from the tsadik. Large
distances involved high (p.239) costs in maintaining ties with the tsadik, both
the material cost of transportation, as well as the emotional cost of intermittent
contact; and the courts’ size also led to a lack of intimacy in these contacts. At
the same time, it was precisely this burden that was a key mechanism in
weeding out “free-riders” and maintaining the community’s high
effectiveness.112 Additionally, such a court provided relatively extensive contacts
with numerous, highly committed, co-religionists scattered widely throughout
the country. In commercial circles, this provided a real added value. In other
words, membership in such a community required an investment of real effort
but produced a high return.
Conclusions
Page 34 of 44
Economy
The assembled material—both the figures from four local communities in

Congress Poland, one community in Belarus, extensive sample material of
kvitlekh, families of the Tomkhei Temimim students in interwar Poland, as well
as rich anecdotal material (archival, memoirs, and more)—point to the Hasidim’s
relative affluence, as well as to their tendency to cluster in commercial
professions and to avoid the crafts and unskilled labor. To be sure, the data are
too fragmentary, and the anecdotal materials too vulnerable to serious bias, to
be able to draw extensive conclusions. Nevertheless, the conjecture that the
Hasidic movement in fact attracted better-heeled individuals, hence mainly
merchants and financiers, seems justified and probable. And this undermines the
prevailing view of the movement’s social and professional profile.
In fact, the conviction that Hasidism was a movement more for the rich than the
poor, and more for merchants than craftsmen, appeared so frequently in
contemporary accounts that it must have not only represented social reality but
have been a significant factor in its creation. Israel Joshua Singer, in his memoir
cited at the beginning of this chapter, recalls a situation in which a certain
butcher decided to join Hasidism. Interestingly, he was despised for this by all
the other artisans of the town who understood it as an attempt to show his
superiority over them.113 This suggests that the ethos of the low-status craft
guilds may have actively prohibited their members from joining the Hasidic
movement and thus informed the class structure of the movement.
(p.240) The case of Hasidism furnishes historians and sociologists of religious

movements with another argument questioning the universality of the
deprivation theory, and points to the dynamic character of class–church
interdependence, as well as the meaning of the ideological and cultural factors
creating this interdependence. It also confirms the correlation between a
religious group’s strictness and its strength and attractiveness. Furthermore,
when Hasidism becomes a mass movement and is threatened with a loss of
internal cohesion, this leads to internal diversification in line with this same
principle of strictness: groups offering a high return also require a high price for
membership. The correlation is not only retained, but is even internalized.
Page 35 of 44
Economy
Hasidism was not an economic enterprise, and financial gain was not its ultimate
goal. Yet it did have a distinct socioeconomic profile and used economic tools in
its activities. Incorporation of economic data and economic theory into research
on Hasidism thus seems needed and desirable. Categories of its socioeconomic
profile might be of help in understanding much of the movement’s social
structure and the dynamics of its development. If observations on the
importance of the Hasidic clientele nets find confirmation in further research, it
might revolutionize our understanding of nearly all aspects of the Hasidic
experience, starting from group cohesiveness to forms of religious expression.
There is still much to be done on the economic reflection of Hasidism and the
economic foundations of Hasidic institutions. There is also the cardinal question
if and how the emergence and development of Hasidism influenced the
economic life of the Jewish community in Eastern Europe beyond narrow
boundaries of Hasidic confraternities. Hopefully this chapter is a step toward a
return to those fundamental questions. Otherwise, we can hardly understand the
phenomenon of arguably the biggest and most influential Jewish socioreligious
movement in modern times. (p.241) (p.242)
Notes:
(1.) Israel Joshua Singer, Of a World That Is No More, 250.
(2.) On the economy of Hasidic courts, see Assaf, “ ‘Money for Household
Expenses’.” See also the doctrinal aspects in Pedaya, “Le-hitpatḥuto shel ha-
degem ha-ḥevrati-dati-kalkali be-ḥasidut.” On the wealthy patrons and activists
of Hasidism, see Schiper, Przyczynki do dziejów chasydyzmu w Polsce, 65–72;
Dynner, “Merchant Princes and Tsadikim” (reprinted in his Men of Silk, 89–116);
Lurie, Lubavitch u-milḥamoteha, 24–33; Wodziński, Hasidism and Politics, 220–
29; Kauffman, “Outside the Natural Order.”
(3.) The two aspects that were somewhat better researched, i.e., Hasidic ritual
slaughter and prayer halls, were never properly assessed for their economic
significance and enjoyed scholarly interest not because of their economic but
social and religious dimension; on ritual slaughter, see esp. Shaul Stampfer, “The
Controversy over Sheḥitah”; Shmeruk, “Mashma’utah ha-ḥevratit shel ha-
sheḥitah ha-ḥasidit.” See also Kuperstein, “Inquiry at Polaniec.”
(4.) For a good overview of these apologetic positions, and their criticism by
Jewish historians from Leopold Zunz to Cecil Roth and Bernard Weinryb, see
Reuveni, “Introduction.”
(5.) Karp, “An ‘Economic Turn’ in Jewish Studies?”
Page 36 of 44
Economy
(6.) Ibid., 10–11; See also Reuveni, “Introduction,” 8. For a more optimistic view,
see Teller, Money, Power, and Influence, ix–x; Kobrin and Teller, “Introduction.
Purchasing Power,” 12–17. For a more general schism between cultural
historians preoccupied with language and representation and new trends in
economic and business history, see Lipartito, “Reassembling the Economic.”
(7.) Calmanson, Uwagi nad niniejszym stanem Żydów, 19.
(8.) See Wilensky, Ḥasidim u-mitnagedim, 1:54, 77, 129, 168, 176, 323; 2:33–34,
49, 57, 65–67, 76, 102, 105, 108, 137, 162, 171, 173, 207, 212.
(9.) Graff, “Słówko z okoliczności listu otwartego b. przywódcy chassydów R.

Beera Friedman,” 15:132.
(10.) See Wilensky, Ḥasidim u-mitnagedim, 1:208–209. See also similar materials
elsewhere, e.g., AGAD, CWW no. 1411, pp. 66–74; no. 1871, pp. 321–24;
Archiwum Państwowe w Kielcach, collection: Rząd Gubernialny Radomski no.
4405, pp. 6–8; Archiwum Państwowe w Lublinie, collection: Akta miasta Lublina
no. 2419, pp. 85, 90.
(11.) On this, see Bartal, “Le’an halakh tseror ha-kesef?,” 375–85.
(12.) Shivhe ha-Besht, 179.
(13.) Tsikiernik, Sipurei ḥasidut Chernobyl, 56 no. 29.
(14.) Kadish, Siaḥ sarfei kodesh, 1:70.
(15.) Ibid., 5:58.
(16.) See, e.g., Chang, “Escaping the Procrustean Bed,” 123–36.
(17.) Dubnow, Toledot ha-ḥasidut, 1–38.
(18.) Dinur, “Reshitah shel ha-ḥasidut vi-yesodoteha ha-sotsyaliyim veha-

meshiḥiyim,” 92–157; English translation in Dinur, “The Origins of Hasidism and
Its Social and Messianic Foundations.”
(19.) Mahler, Hasidism and the Jewish Enlightenment, 8.
(20.) Halpern, “Yaḥaso shel R. Aharon ha-gadol mi-Karlin kelapei mishtar ha-
kehilot.”
(21.) Shachar, Bikoret ha-ḥevrah ve-hanhagat ha-tsibur be-sifrut ha-musar veha-

derush be-Polin ba-me’ah ha-shemoneh ‘esreh.
(22.) Ettinger, “The Hasidic Movement: Reality and Ideals,” 229–31.
(23.) Rosman, Founder of Hasidism.
Page 37 of 44
Economy
(24.) For literature, see note 2.
(25.) Unfortunately, there is very little research on this issue, mostly by Mahler,
Hasidism and the Jewish Enlightenment, 7–15, 18–23; and Mahler, “R. Khayim
Halbershtam un zayn dor,” 277–90.
(26.) On the development of the idea of pidyon, see Rubinstein, “He’arot li-
te’udah ‘al geviyat ‘edut neged ha-ḥasidut”; Pedaya, ‘Le-hitpatḥuto shel ha-
degem ha-ḥevrati-dati-kalkali be-ḥasidut”; Assaf, “Money for Household
Expenses,” 19–33.
(27.) See, e.g., Brokman, Migdal David, 16; First, “Batar resha azil,” 127.
(28.) Dresner, The Zaddik, 165–66.
(29.) Menaḥem Naḥum of Chernobyl, Me’or ‘eynayim; parashat yitro, p. 109; as

quoted in Green, “Typologies of Leadership and the Hasidic Zaddiq,” 132.
(30.) Mendel Tsitron, Shivḥei tsadikim, 126 no. 63. See also the same statement
by R. Israel of Ruzhin [Rużyn], as cited in Assaf, The Regal Way, 238.
(31.) Kadish, Siaḥ sarfei kodesh, 1:57.
(32.) As indicated by Hundert, Jews in Poland-Lithuania in the Eighteenth

Century, 48–49.
(33.) Zalmanov, Sefer shemu’at Yitzḥak, 80–84.
(34.) See Mahler, Hasidism and the Jewish Enlightenment.
(35.) See, e.g., Bochner, Seyfer Khzhanov, 57–58; Keish, “Bi-reḥovot ha-‘ir,” 10.
(36.) Walden, Sefer nifle’ot ha-rabi, 174 no. 322.
(37.) Brokman, Migdal David, 39.
(38.) See, e.g., Brokman, Migdal David, 50; Mendel Tsitron, Shivḥei tsadikim, 53,
62; Walden, Sefer nifle’ot ha-rabi, 20 (no. 13), 112–13 (no. 170), 166–67 (no.
304), 192 (no. 334); Kadish, Siaḥ sarfei kodesh, 1:109, 127; 3:34, 36; 5:84.
(39.) See, e.g., Gudman, “Fun khsidim shtibl tsu revolutsyonerer tetikeyt,” 131–
44; Margoshes, A World Apart, 172–73.
(40.) For the list, see AGAD, collection: Komisja Województwa Kaliskiego no.
702, p. 32; reprinted in Hasidism in the Kingdom of Poland, 55–57. On the
conflict in Częstochowa, see Wodziński, Hasidism and Politics, 69–72.
Page 38 of 44
Economy
(41.) See the extensive discussion of the numbers of Hasidim in Częstochowa in

Wodziński, Haskalah and Hasidism in the Kingdom of Poland, 103–104;
Wodziński, “How Many Hasidim Were There in Congress Poland?,” 28–30.
(42.) For the list, see Archiwum Państwowe w Łodzi, collection: Akta miasta
Aleksandrowa no. 154, pp. 40, 46–47.
(43.) See Hasidism in the Kingdom of Poland, 274–79, 568–71. For the list, see
Archiwum Państwowe w Łodzi, collection: Anteriora Piotrkowskiego Rządu
Gubernialnego no. 2512, pp. 208–209; reprinted in Hasidism in the Kingdom of
Poland, 277.
(44.) On the conflict in Włocławek, see Wodziński, Hasidism and Politics, 143–57.
For the list, see AGAD, CWW no. 1734, pp. 221–24, 237–38; reprinted in
Hasidism in the Kingdom of Poland, 257–58.
(45.) On other estimations, see Wodziński, Haskalah and Hasidism, 131.
(46.) For general statistical data, see Wasiutyński, Ludność żydowska w Polsce,
8, 28–29.
(47.) The Jewish community in nineteenth-century Poland was divided into five
or six tax brackets. The richest men belonged to the first tax bracket, and,
although the least numerous, were obliged to cover 40% of the community
budget; the second bracket provided 30%; the third bracket, 20%; the fourth
bracket, 10%; and the fifth and six brackets were freed from fiscal obligations.
Aleksandrów and Włocławek used a six-bracket system, while Częstochowa had
a five-bracket system, and Koniecpol did not have a bracket system but only the
exact sum of the tax to be paid. Therefore, to standardize the table, I have
recalculated the brackets as if all the communities used a six-bracket tax system.
(48.) Unfortunately, these data are less representative because it was possible to
identify occupations for only two of the four communities, namely, Aleksandrów
and Włocławek (the most representative of the four lists).
(49.) See, e.g., Raba, “‘Al ha-mivneh ha-miktso’i shel Yehudei malkhut Polin,”
190–211; Eisenbach, Kwestia równouprawnienia Żydów w Królestwie Polskim,
218. Following Schiper, Dzieje handlu żydowskiego na ziemiach polskich, and
Filip Friedman, Wirtschaftliche Umschichtungsprozesse in der polnischen
Judenschaft, both Raba and Eisenbach estimate the rough occupational division
at 40% in trade, 40% in crafts, 10% unskilled workers, and 10% others.
(50.) Rakovsky, My Life as a Radical Jewish Woman, 54.
(51.) Mahler, Hasidism and the Jewish Enlightenment, 64.
(52.) Calmanson, Uwagi nad niniejszym stanem Żydów, 18.
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Economy
(53.) Friedländer, Über die Verbesserung der Israeliten im Königreich Pohlen,

38–42.
(54.) Perl, Uiber das Wesen der Sekte Chassidim, 110. Similar lists in Linetsky,
The Polish Lad, 172, 251, 268.
(55.) See also Bartal, “The Imprint of Haskalah Literature on the Historiography
of Hasidism.”
(56.) AGAD, CWW no. 1472, pp. 20–21.
(57.) Archiwum Państwowe w Łodzi, collection: Akta miasta Aleksandrowa no.

154, pp. 38–39.
(58.) AGAD, CWW no. 1734, pp. 215–18.
(59.) On Płock, AGAD, CWW no. 1734, p. 217; on Kazimierz, AGAD, CWW no.
1632, pp. 167–68; on Działoszyce, Archiwum Państwowe w Radomiu, collection:
Rząd Gubernialny Radomski I no. 4340, pp. 58–59; on Radoszyce, Archiwum
Państwowe w Radomiu, collection: Rząd Gubernialny Radomski I no. 4372, pp.
580–588; on Międzyrzec, AGAD, CWW no. 1780, pp. 339–42; on Radomsko,
Archiwum Państwowe w Łodzi, collection: Anteriora Piotrkowskiego Rządu
Gubernialnego no. 2558, 2559, pp. 87–91, 98–103; on Rypin, AGAD, CWW no.
1684, pp. 90–93; on Szydłowiec, AGAD, CWW no. 1508, pp. 23–24.
(60.) Bernfeld, “Zikhronot,” 170–71; Margoshes, A World Apart, 92.
(61.) Sefer Turobin, 327; Sefer Pshitik, 22; Husiatin: podolyer gubernie, 81;
Pinkes Zaglebmie, 88; Sefer yizkor Goniondz, 75–76.
(62.) Information about petitioners’ professions appear in 147 cases. Dynner,

Yankel’s Tavern, 137, arrived at similar proportions in his analysis of the entire
collection: 58% of the kvitlekh from representatives of commerce and leases,
21% crafts, 13% free professions, 5% unskilled workers, and 3% soldiers.
However, in the entire collection, Dynner found only 812 kvitlekh mentioning the
profession of the petitioner, which in light of my sample analysis of one of
sixteen boxes seems low.
(63.) Shalom Dovber Levin, Toledot ḥabad be-Polin, Lita ve-Latvya ba-shanim
550–706; my count is based on all the registers printed in Levin’s book, both
textual tables and facsimiles. I am grateful to Wojciech Tworek for sharing these
materials and his notes with me.
(64.) For studies exemplifying both positions, see Gerlach and Hine, People,
Power, Change; Findeisen, Pietismus in Fellbach 1750–1820 zwischen sozialem
Protest und bürgerlicher Anpassung, 236–40.
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Economy
(65.) Wodziński, Haskalah and Hasidism, 266–73.
(66.) See Lurie, Lubavitch u-milḥamoteha, 24–33.
(67.) Leo Baeck Institute Archives, no. MM93, pp. 160–61.
(68.) See Weber, Sociology of Religion, 113. NB, it challenges the widely
accepted claim about the inevitable conflict of these two positions; see, e.g.,
Stark and Bainbridge, The Future of Religion, 153.
(69.) For a review of the dominating positions, see Reimer, “Sect Appeal,” 69–89.
See also Stark, “Upper Class Asceticism.”
(70.) Kanishter, “Di letste zibetsik yor in Ratner yidishn lebn,” 72–73. A
memoirist from Szydłowiec, Central Poland, recalled the constant confrontation
between the local Hasidim and the working class as “a veritable class-war”—
Wolofsky, Journey of My Life, 20.
(71.) See AGAD, CWW no. 1869, pp. 10–11. See also Yisker-bukh fun der
tshekhanover yidisher kehile, 53; Sefer yizkor Goniondz, 75. Similarly, a well-
known political activist, Nahum Sokołów, wrote in 1899 that the major strength
of Hasidism in his time was its capitalist decorum and its attractiveness to the
wealthy people: N[achum] S[okołów], “Do pracy i zgody!,” 259–60. See also
N[achum] S[okołów], “Zanik misnagdyzmu,” 449: “craftsmen and workers were
rarely Hasidim.”
(72.) Hasidism in the Kingdom of Poland, 241–44.
(73.) Manekin, “Hasidism and the Habsburg Empire.”
(74.) Assaf and Sagiv, “Hasidism in Tsarist Russia.”
(75.) Hasidism in the Kingdom of Poland, 459–72.
(76.) For similar cases, see, e.g., Rot, “Rabonim, shuln un yidish lebn in
Kolomay,” 132–33; Archiwum Państwowe w Łodzi, collection: Anteriora
Piotrkowskiego Rządu Gubernialnego no. 2512, pp. 109–314.
(77.) Rapoport and Weiss, “The Optimal Size for a Minority.”
(78.) On connection between demographic growth and development of Hasidism,

see Hundert, Jews in Poland-Lithuania in the Eighteenth Century, 179–81.
(79.) On the close interrelation between level of education and wealth in early
modern Jewish society, see Stampfer, “Heder Study, Knowledge of Torah, and the
Maintenance of Social Stratification,” 145–66.
(80.) See Hundert, Jews in Poland-Lithuania in the Eighteenth Century, 179.
Page 41 of 44
Economy
(81.) Mondshine, Ha-ma’asar ha-rishon, 135–36.
(82.) For a very interesting analysis of the Scottish Free Church, see MacLaren,
Religion and Social Class.
(83.) See, e.g., Husiatin: podolyer gubernie, 82.
(84.) Margoshes, A World Apart, 51.
(85.) For similar accounts, see, e.g., Sefer zikaron Vlodavah, 235; Bzhezhin:
yisker-bukh, 87–89.
(86.) Kotik, A Journey to a Nineteenth-Century Shtetl, 304.
(87.) Ibid.
(88.) See, e.g., Kadish, Siaḥ sarfei kodesh, 3:34, 36; Walden, Sefer nifle’ot ha-
rabi, 140 no. 220.
(89.) See, e.g., Rabinovich, “Zekher le-nishkaḥot,” 178–87; Margoshes, A World

Apart, 172–73. See also Lurie, Lubavitch u-milḥamoteha, 33–34.
(90.) For the best known description of this position, see Greif, “Reputation and
Coalitions in Medieval Trade”; Greif, “Contract Enforcability and Economic
Institutions.” For polemics with Greif’s views, see Edwards and Ogilvie,
“Contract Enforcement, Institutions and Social Capital”; Greif, “The Maghrebi
Traders: A Reappraisal?”
(91.) See Bartal, “Le’an halakh tseror ha-kesef?” See also Margoshes, A World
Apart, 92, 96.
(92.) See, e.g., Walden, Sefer nifle’ot ha-rabi, 158 no. 285.
(93.) Sagiv, Ha-shoshelet, 384–95.
(94.) Perl, Uiber das Wesen der Sekte Chassidim, 110.
(95.) Sefer zikaron li-kehilat Rozniatov. Partial English translation in http://

www.jewishgen.org/Yizkor/Rozniatow/roz144.html (accessed May 24, 2017). See
also Zborowski and Herzog, Life Is with People, 171.
(96.) See Iannaccone, “Why Strict Churches are Strong,” 1184–89; Iannaccone,
“Sacrifice and Stigma”; Stark and Finke, Acts of Faith, 22. See also Kelley, Why
Conservative Churches Are Growing.
(97.) Not all the names appear the same way in both lists, so there is a good
chance some names have not been identified as referring to the same person.
Page 42 of 44
Economy
(98.) See the Central Archives for the History of the Jewish People, RU–1263,
folios 55–60; HMF 831–28, folios 4–10. I am grateful to Benjamin Lukin and
Aleksandra Oniszczuk for assisting me in getting to and searching through these
materials.
(99.) For other similar examples, see, e.g., Zatulovski, “Proḥorovka,” 3–5.
(100.) On this, see Ettinger, “The Modern Period,” 842.
(101.) Kotik, A Journey to a Nineteenth-Century Shtetl, 408.
(102.) See, e.g., Baranovits: sefer zikaron, 235.
(103.) Friedman, “Tsu der geshikhte fun di Yidn in Belkhatov,” 30. The relative
wealth of the Ger Hasidim has been also reported in the memorial books of the
Jewish communities of Będzin, Czyżewo, Działoszyce, Gąbin, Gniewoszów,
Piotrków, Płońsk, Przedbórz, Przytyk, Pułtusk, Radomsko, Różan, Rypin, Serock,
Wołomin, Zelów, and Złoczew. See Pinkas Bendin, 236; Yisker-bukh nokh der
khorev-gevorener yidisher kehile Tshizheve, 192; Shaḥar, “Shtibel shel ḥasidim,”
195; Gombin, 60–63; Sefer zikaron li-kehilat Gnivoshov, 67; Piotrkov Tribunalski,
321; Sefer Plonsk, 58; Sefer Pshitik, 45; Pultusk; sefer zikaron, 91, 109; Sefer-
yizkor li-kehilat Radomsk, 114; Sefer zikaron li-kehilat Rozhan, 153; Sefer Ripin,
157; Sefer Serotsk, 114; Sefer zikaron kehilat Volomin, 120; Sefer-zikaron li-
kehilat Zelov, 98; Sefer Zlotshev, 28.
(104.) Sefer zikaron li-kehilat Rozhan, 153. On other towns, see, e.g., Yisker-
bukh nokh der khorev-gevorener yidisher kehile Tshizheve, 192; Sefer Voydislov-
Sendzishov, 133.
(105.) See, e.g., Sefer Pshitik, 45; Pultusk, 91, 109.
(106.) Shaḥar, “Shtibel shel ḥasidim,” 195–96; Pinkes Zaglembie, 92–93; Undzer
shtot Volbrom, 197; Pudlovski, “Di ortodoksishe bavegung in Belkhatov,” 303;
Sefer-zikaron li-kehilat Zelov, 100; Sefer zikaron li-kehilat Rozhan, 153; Sefer
Turobin, 142.
(107.) See in Wodziński, Historical Atlas of Hasidism, 118–19 (table 5.3.1).
(108.) Sefer zikaron le-zekher kehilot Dobromil, 61.
(109.) Telekhan, 144.
(110.) I managed to locate 130 relevant accounts in memorial books of Jewish

communities.
(111.) See Finke, “The Quiet Transformation”; Iannaccone, “Sacrifice and

Stigma.”
Page 43 of 44
Economy
(112.) See Iannaccone, “Why Strict Churches are Strong.”
(113.) Israel Joshua Singer, Of a World That Is No More, 181.
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Economy

University Press Scholarship Online

Oxford Scholarship Online

Hasidism: Key Questions

Print publication date: 2018

Abstract and Keywords

Unfortunately, our knowledge of the economic aspects of Hasidism is still

Finally, the reflection on economic aspects of Hasidism fell prey to a very

Images and Their Uses

A critique of the economic consequences of Hasidism was present in writings on

It is understandable that a man who has so many connections in heaven

(p.204) In the opinion of the maskilim, this led to the impoverishment of

Anti-Hasidic polemicists also raised the economic effects of the Hasidim

– Are you well?

– Do you have an appetite?

This self-image of Hasidism as a poor movement was quite typical of many

Both these traditional sources, Hasidic and anti-Hasidic alike, in paradoxical

An important challenge to the deprivation theories, which painted the early

(p.207) A research on wealthy patrons of Hasidism, initiated by Ignacy Schiper

Doctrine and Its Impact

Method, Sources, Data

The traditional opinions on social profile of Hasidism were usually based on

What I suggest instead is not surprising. The socio-occupational structure of the

In Częstochowa, in 1820, on the

Figure 6.1. Congress Poland, ca. 1830.

In Koniecpol, in 1837, a complaint from the leaders of the Jewish community

First, in all of the communities the Hasidim were overrepresented, when

Aleksandrów Częstochowa Koniecpol Włocławek Together

1 3 (23%) 3 (2%) 0 11 (4%) 0 4 (4%) 2 (11%) 7 (4%) 5 (10%) 25 (4%)

5 3 (23%) 28 (21%) 0 65 (26%) 0 24 (27%) 1 (5%) 53 (31%) 4 (8%) 170 (27%)

6 0 12 (9%) 0 48 (19%) 0 18 (20%) 5 (26%) 45 (26%) 5 (10%) 123 (19%)

Total 13 133 11 247 7 90 19 171 50 641

What is interesting is that the

(p.218) The second striking characteristic is the occupational structure of the

Aleksandrów Włocławek Together Together (%)

Hasidim Non-H.a Hasidim Non-H. Hasidim Non-H. Hasidim Non-H.

Trade 16 46 11 80 27 126 73% 42%

Crafts 2 60 5 71 7 131 19% 43%

Total 20 128 17 174 37 302 100% 100%

Source: See Table 6.1.

What is more, among these

(p.219) Interesting patterns emerge also within two other groups of

On second thought, however, the overrepresentation of the rich and merchants

(p.222) A similar pattern of the dominance of merchants and the

Also, much later and in a very

If the material assembled in the preceding is to be believed, we need to ask a

Both anti-Hasidic critics as well as the Hasidim themselves frequently confirmed

The interest of Hasidism in

Hasidism was so involved in Figure 6.6. The anti-Hasidic critic and

It was possible to gain disproportionately extensive support among the wealthy

Another factor in the recruitment of representatives of better-heeled groups by

At the time of Hasidism’s development in the eighteenth and nineteenth

This relationship of affluence and cultural capital is important because it reveals

An excellent example of how Hasidic solidarity worked in the economic realm

Another factor supporting Hasidic economic activity was the interrelation

(p.233) At times, a tsadik was also a source of financial support when he

At the same time, Hasidism’s relative strictness was an effective mechanism

The best example comes from mid-nineteenth-century Stołpce in Belarus. In

The repeated regularity of

The assembled material—both the figures from four local communities in

(p.240) The case of Hasidism furnishes historians and sociologists of religious

(5.) Karp, “An ‘Economic Turn’ in Jewish Studies?”

(7.) Calmanson, Uwagi nad niniejszym stanem Żydów, 19.